It is possible that if Jack Allsopp had picked a stage name with a bit more brio – Barnstorming Jack, say – he might have fulfilled early predictions of Streets-style success. Then again, maybe not. "Just" suits this London singer/MC, who's so unprepossessing that he greeted us with: "I don't know what to say, man."
That wasn't quite true: over the next hour he found things to say about "shitty relationships", slackers who spend hours looking at porn on the internet, and his unborn baby, to whom he dedicated what he considers his best song, The Day I Died. But it was conveyed with a shambling self-effacement that explained why he hasn't reaped Streets-sized rewards.
As a performer, Allsopp lacks edge, a quality generally deemed crucial in artists who fall into the "urban poet" category, as he just about does thanks to three albums that capture the minutiae of London life. Lolloping through the show, he was likable, endearing, even sweet (how else to describe his impish addition of the chorus of 99 Red Balloons to the end of The Day I Died?). Edgy, however, he was not.
There were flashes though, such as the moment he whipped himself into a choked-up frenzy on a speeded-up version of his biggest hit, Starz in Their Eyes. But mainly, though, his persona is more guy-next-door than provocative teller of tales from urban bohemia.
Allsopp was also frequently outshone by his band, a tight funk quintet whose ability contrasted vividly with his have-a-go singing technique. But it's not his fault – he is, after all, Just Jack.
